The Moulin Rouge
by platinum-fire-ball
Summary: What if Harry Potter met Moulin Rouge? In this twisted adaptation Draco, a young confused writer is thrust into the Bohemian World of modern day Paris! There he meets the beautiful courtesan Hermione. Will she fall prey to the scheming Harry Potter?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or its characters (I wish!) nor do I own the rights to the characters and storyline of Moulin Rouge, although I wish I owned Ewan McGregor. I am just borrowing them for my own sadistic, sarcastic pleasures. Please enjoy my pirating!

**Summary:** What if Harry Potter met Moulin Rouge? In this twisted adaptation Draco, a young confused writer is thrust into the Bohemian World of modern day Paris, if modern day Paris was a Bohemian World of course! There he meets the beautiful courtesan Hermione, however the owner of the Moulin Rouge, Cornelius Fudge, has promised the rights to Hermione to the scheming Harry Potter. Will Draco be able to seduce Hermione from under Fudge's and Potter's noses, or will the writer be foiled by the very society he rebels against? Read and find out… This is my first fanfic, please be nice! -Mel

**Prologue**

_There was a boy  
A very strange, enchanted boy  
They say he wandered very far, very far  
Over land and sea  
A little shy and sad of eye  
But very wise was he...  
And then one day  
One magic day  
He passed my way  
And while we spoke of many things  
Fools and kings  
This he said to me...  
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn  
Is just to love...and be loved in return.'_

A young man sat at his typewriter, slowly tapping out a sad, wrenching story. Every now and again a tear would drip down his pale cheek, and smudge the freshly typed ink. His blonde hair was scraped carelessly off his face, unbrushed and unwashed, as though its owner no longer cared about his appearance. In truth Draco Malfoy no longer did care for himself. Only the story onto which his uncontrolled tears splattered. His pale grey eyes glistened as he numbly typed… a story of beauty, freedom, truth and love came into existence amongst his pain and sorrows. His story. 


	2. Raining Unconscious Australians

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or its characters (I wish!) nor do I own the rights to the characters and storyline of Moulin Rouge, although I wish I owned Ewan McGregor. I am just borrowing them for my own sadistic, sarcastic pleasures. Please enjoy my pirating!

**Summary:** What if Harry Potter met Moulin Rouge? In this twisted adaptation Draco, a young confused writer is thrust into the Bohemian World of modern day Paris, if modern day Paris was a Bohemian World of course! There he meets the beautiful courtesan Hermione, however the owner of the Moulin Rouge, Cornelius Fudge, has promised the rights to Hermione to the scheming Harry Potter. Will Draco be able to seduce Hermione from under Fudge's and Potter's noses, or will the writer be foiled by the very society he rebels against? Read and find out… This is my first fanfic, please be nice! -Mel

**Raining Unconscious Australians**

_"The Moulin Rouge . . . a magical nightclub, the dance hall of the bordello. Ruled over by Cornelius Fudge. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and magical came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Hermione, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Mystic Unicorn", and she was the star... of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is... dead. I first came to __Paris__ one year ago. It was 2003, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Cornelius Fudge or Hermione. The world had been swept up in the revolution against everything. Voldemort. The Ministry of magic. Muggles.. And I travelled from __London__ to be a part of it. On a hill near __Paris__ was the __village__ of __Montmartre__. It was not as my father had said."_

Draco remembered when he broke his plans to his father. Lucius Malfoy had towered over his son, a snake-headed cane in his hand. "A village of GOOD!" he proclaimed disgustedly.

_"It was the center of the Bohemian world with musicians, painters, writers. They were known as the "Children of the Revolution." Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believe in above all things... LOVE." _

Lucius Malfoy could not believe this boy was his son.  "Always this ridiculous obsession with love!" With plently of cane-waving on the emphasis.

"There was only one problem - I'd never been in love! Luckily, right at that moment an unconscious Australian fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun."

  
Draco's apartment door opened with a bang. An old wizard in cheerfully dingy clothing peered over his half-moon spectacles at Draco, before returning his glance to the unconscious man swinging through the ceiling roof.  

"How do you do? My name is Henri Marie Raymond Albus Dumbledore-Lautrec Montfa. I'm terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play." The wizard grinned happily as he released the Australian from his rope binds. The man dropped heavily to the floor. Draco stared in shock. Three face peered down through the hole in the ceiling; a large man with a very hairy face, a pug faced woman and a pale, dark haired man all watched worriedly as Dumbledore magicked the Australian onto his shoulders and lugged him out of the room, with Draco trailing curiously in tow.

"What?"

"_A play, something very modern called 'Spectacular, Spectacular.'" _

Dumbledore added helpfully, "And it's set in Switzerland."

_Unfortunately the unconscious Australian suffered from a sickness called Narcolepsy."_

Dumbledore explained to the stunned Draco, "Perfectly fine one moment then suddenly," he snorted loudly in imitation of a heavy snorer, or maybe a pig! "unconscious the next." A big burly man known as Hagrid, personally Draco thought he looked more like a Giant than anything else, stooped over the Australian.

"How is he?" he boomed.

The pug faced woman, Pansy snorted derisively "How wonderful now that narcoleptic Australian is now unconscious. And therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financiers tomorrow!" The dark haired man blanched.

"Quick Dumbledore," he cried, "I still have to finish the music." Dumbledore was unhurried.

"We'll just find someone to read the part, Snape." He said calmly. Snape looked ready to throw someone out the window.

Pansy was beside herself in exasperation. "Oh where in heavens will we find someone to read the role of the young sensitive Swiss poet Goatherd?" All eyes turned to Draco, cowering in the corner. He paled considerably.

_"Before I knew it, I was upstairs standing in for the unconscious Australian."_

Hagrid was singing along happily, bouncing around to his own rhythm.

"The hills are animated with, the euphonious symphony of descant..." he boomed. Pansy squealed and threw a boot at him. Hagrid caught the boot and ate it hungrily.

"Oh stop, stop, stop, stop that insufferable droning is drowning out my words. Can we please just stick to a little decorative piano?" she grizzled.

_"There seem to be artistic differences over Pansy lyrics to Snape's songs."_

Hagrid, now that his stomach was satisfied, was in a more peaceable manner.

" I don't think a nun would say that about a hill" he tried reasoning with Pansy, his eyes gazing at her other boot. Pansy glowered and threw the shoe out of the window, bouncing off Snape in the process. Hagrid sighed heavily and the floors creaked. Snape rubbed his sore head.

"What if he sings "The hills are vital intoning the descant?" Snape intoned.

"No, no, no, the hills are…" Hagrid lost his train of thought. 

Suddenly the Australian woke up with a start, a thong balanced on his head.

  
"The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodics." He cried dramatically, before reterning to a state of comatose unconsciousness.   
  


Draco tried to think about hills. "The . . . the hills . . . " he gave up as the group argued louder.

Hagrid was not happy.  "The hills are chanting . . ."

Snape tried to drown out Hagrid. "The hill . . ."

Suddenly Draco burst into melodious song. "The hills are alive with the sound of music!" he sang.

The Australian woke again, leaping to his feet.

  
"The hills are alive with the sound of music! I love it!" he cried, sending his thong spirling down to the floor.

Snape tried out the tune for himself. "The hills are alive with the sound of music. It fits perfectly!" he smiled happily. _Thank god, _he thought.

Draco was inspired by the bohemians response. "With songs they have sung for a thousand years!" he sang. The bohemians gasped, the song fit perfectly with the show.

  
Dumbledore smiled happily, dancing around the room with Hagrid.

"Incandiferous! Pansy, you two should write the show together." He rejoiced.

Pansy stopped cold, her frown deepening. "I beg your pardon?" she hissed.

_"But Dumbledore's suggestion that Pansy and I write the show together was not what Pansy wanted to hear."_

"GOOD-BYE!" Pansy cried, her case in hand, and she slammed the door, leaving the remaining bohemians to party.  
  


Dumbledore turned to Draco "Yes, your first job in Paris."

Snape frowned.  "No offence but have you ever written anything like this before?"

Draco gulped. He felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. "No . . ."

The Australian bounded across the room to where Draco stood. He placed his hand possessively on the boy. Draco paled in shock. "Ah! The boy has talent. I like him!" Realising his hand lay on Draco's crotch the Australian recoiled. "Nothing funny... I just like talent." He babbled. Nobody noticed.

Dumbledore sang aloud. "The hills are alive with the sound of music. See Snape, with Draco we can write this truly Bohemian Revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of."

Snape was sceptical. "But how will we convince Fudge?"

"_But Dumbledore had a plan. Hermione, they whispered. They would dress me in the Australian's best suit and pass me off as a famous English writer. Once Hermione heard my modern poetry, she would be astounded and insist to Fudge that I write "Spectacular, Spectacular." The only problem was I kept hearing my father's voice in my head 'You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer.'"_

Draco jolted awake. "NO! I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" He stood to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him.

" Why not?" he asked.

Draco stammered. "I--I don't even know if I am a true Bohemian Revolutionary."

Dumbledore rolled his eyes  "Do you believe in beauty?" The other bohemians gathered around the captured Draco.

"Yes." Draco answered truthfully.

" Freedom?" asked Hagrid, a thong poking out of his mouth.

"Yes, of course." said Draco.

Snape peered at him "Truth?"

"Yes!" cried Draco, now thoroughly uncomfortable.

Hagrid boomed, "Love?"

Draco paused. "Love? Love. Above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love."

Dumbledore cried "See, you can't fool us! You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution! You will write of the world's first Bohemian Revolution show!" 

 "_It was a perfect plan. I was to audition for Hermione and I would taste my first glass of Fire Whisky."_

Suddenly a little fairy appeared in front of Draco's eyes. It reminded him of… Carson, the fashion guru from Queer Eye. Not that Draco watched Queer Eye. The Gay Fairy tittered.

"I'm the Gay Fairy." It squeaked.

The bohemians burst into spontaneous song "The hills are alive with the sound of music... FREEDOM... BEAUTY...TRUTH AND LOVE!"

The Gay Fairy sang with them. "The hills are alive with the sound of music!"

Everything disappeared into a swirl of colours for Draco.


End file.
